


A Very Reality X Halloween

by shulamithbond



Series: Reality X [5]
Category: A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984), Friday the 13th Series (Movies), Halloween (1978), House of Wax (2005), IT - Stephen King, Misery - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bob Gray just wants everyone to have a good time dammit, Disabled Character, Disabled Character of Color, Everyone Has Issues, F/F, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Crack, Gen, Halloween, I Don't Even Know, Not Beta Read, On the wagon, Rare Fandoms, not really because she's genderqueer but there was no tag for that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-25 17:24:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2630084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shulamithbond/pseuds/shulamithbond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How do a bunch of serial killers going through murder withdrawal and their Mary Sue OCs celebrate Halloween? Prepare to find out!<br/>(Posted after Halloween because I'm good at deadlines. It takes place almost a year before "Vampires of Maine," but can be read on its own.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Very Reality X Halloween

         “ _Ask her, Fred_ ,” Robert Gray, formerly Pennywise the Dancing Clown, and now “Bob” to most of the people he knew, ordered.

        Freddy Krueger folded his arms sullenly. “Why don’t _you_ , if you want her there so bad?”

        “Why don’t _you?_ _Scared?”_

        “Fuck off.”

         “Anyway, you’re the one who got her involved.”

         “ _It was her idea!_ Anyway, she was bending my ear the whole time about how it wasn’t romantic, how it was all just an ‘arrangement.’ Her word, not mine. What makes you think she’d even want to go anywhere with me?”

         “She’s a lonely teenage girl,” Bob pointed out. “She’d likely go anywhere as long as a man seemed interested. It’s not even about romance or sexuality, up to a point. You’ve been in enough teenage girls’ heads to know about that, Fred.”

           “But I’m _not_ interested!”

           “I know that, Fred, and so does she. It’s just a little bit of pretend, for a night.”

          “Why should I want to do that, anyway?”

        “Don’t you wish some girl had done that for you, back when you were” –

         “ _I don’t care about that shit!”_

          “All right then: because regardless of the words she used, Fred, she gave you her virginity and let you _cut_ her.” _And now I’m burdened with that knowledge, so I’m in this too_. “That seems to be a pretty big deal among human girls – or am I getting that wrong? You tell me, Fred, am I right, or” –

         “ _Fuck you.”_ But he’d won; Bob could see it in Freddy’s manner, and even in his face.

         He considered as he climbed back down to his lair that he’d done the best he could for poor Aoife Palpatine – but that “the best he could” was woefully little. Still, what else was there, at this point? Certainly, he’d never have allowed one of his own offspring to engage in any kind of intimacy with a being like Freddy, fond as he’d become of the man (fond as he was of all his Serial Killers Society members). But Aoife wasn’t his, and she was considered an “adult” by human standards, as Bob understood their law on this, albeit a young one, at barely eighteen. None of them could rightfully stop her. The best they could do was to see she got hurt as little as possible.

         He stopped himself – was he not hypothetically allowing his young to become involved with Freddy because Freddy was himself, or because Freddy was human? He hoped it was the former. Yes, he thought, hunting through the boxes and crates that littered his lair for his good clown suit, which would likely need to be at least rinsed in some sink or other in town, surely it was the former. But he knew that was no guarantee; _I must always be vigilant that it doesn’t become the latter. How easy it is for any of us to slide backward_.

 

* * *

 

 

        Aoife was blushing hard at her costume as she and Freddy pulled into the dusty, tamped-down patch of dirt beside the Shack that had become Freddy’s and Lester Sinclair’s parking lot. She’d suspected she would be one of the only people dressing up – Annie had finished her Misery Chastain cosplay, but she was supposed to be staying home to give out candy – and she suspected she was overdressed. She’d tried to replicate the Picnic Gown that Senator Amidala had worn on Naboo in one of the Earth adaptations of her life, and between her input, and Annie and Arianrod Tasini’s fine work, it was a beautiful costume. But she felt silly wearing it to something like this, and it wasn’t as if she even looked like Senator Amidala. She’d made the mistake of not treating her hair, and now it was barely gathered up into the costume’s hairnets, and rapidly frizzing out. She probably looked as if she was walking around with a tangle of black wires on her head.

         “What’s the matter with you?” Freddy asked, breaking the silence in the now-cooling Chevrolet.

        Aoife shrugged, face growing even hotter. <Nothing,> she managed at last. <Just feel a bit overdressed, that’s all.> _And silly, because I don’t know why you asked me, and I don’t know why I agreed to come, and I’m scared, even though I hate admitting it to myself, and I already want to go home…_

         It was his turn to shrug. “Nah, you’re not. You look good.” He said it nonchalantly, like it didn’t matter, but Aoife was still sure that her face was hot enough to fry eggs on.

         <Thanks,> she told him, trying to match his nonchalance, as she cracked open the car door.

 

* * *

 

 

         “Ah, you’re here!” Bob greeted both of them with a big, if close-lipped, smile. “Aoife, I hate to bother you, but could you manage the weapons check? Just until most of the members are here.” Aoife agreed, and made her way to the card table by the door where SKS members were supposed to leave any weapons they’d brought. Freddy reluctantly handed over his glove and milled into the party, secretly relieved at the separation.

         He found Arianrod Tasini pretty much parked next to Mikey Myers’ restraining chair, along with Bob, apparently entertaining both of them with some story, probably about what one of the McAshton brats had done. She wore a black dress with tentacles sewn to it, and her hair was sprayed up stiff and high, and painted purple-silver. The dress hugged the curves and rolls of her body and billowed out in a bell shape below her waist.

          She grinned caustically at Freddy as he walked up. “Happy Samhain, Freduardo. Get all your hentai jokes out of the way now, would you?”

          “Who released the kraken?” Freddy returned. “What’s hentai?”

         “You don’t know? Never mind, you don’t have to,” she chided him, pulling him into a hug, which he tried not to actively resist much. He also tried not to notice how thin the dress’ fabric was; how much of her underwear he could feel through it. Or the fact that she was wearing the damn pear-shaped diamond on her finger. At least she still had that thin white gold ring in her right nostril. Freddy had never much cared for facial piercings, but he couldn’t imagine Arianrod without it at this point. Between that and her habit of heavy eye makeup, Freddy always thought she could have dressed up like Cleopatra, or maybe one of those women from Jewish myths.

_He could still remember the night he’d met her at Springwood High – the fear had wafted off her like perfume, but still she stood there, goth purple-and-black-lace prom dress splattered with her dying girlfriend’s blood, sassing him despite the terror on her face, and oh, how he liked a girl with spirit._

          But now she was engaged to that pretty boy Owain McAshton, and all grown-up, and he was here with Aoife, and nobody was covered in blood or scared, which was all a real shame. The lack of fear and blood was probably best, though, considering Mikey’s current state. All their current states, really. Freddy growled inwardly. Being on the wagon was hard.

 

* * *

 

 

          The Sinclair brothers had finally finished their wax decoration of the Shack’s back wall. Freddy wasn’t normally one for art, but it was big and colorful and pretty impressive; his eyes were drawn to it anyway. It was a brilliant swirl of wax colors and shapes, half mural and half sculpture, with little found objects incorporated, and little wax figures and images depicting different scenes from the SKS’ history. They’d even built and then cast in green wax one of those Lego spaceships, to represent the Tommyknockers’ ship back in Haven. He was pretty sure he could also see spiderweb designs, and even a giant spider that looked suspiciously Bob-like spreading its legs protectively across the wall like tree roots, as well as something that looked like his glove, and something like a hunting rifle with what seemed like rosary beads hanging from it, and then a framed composition that kind of resembled one of Crys’ baby photos.

            Speaking of Crys, Freddy’s gaze drifted to a little rectangle of wax that looked melted in at the last minute. It was some glittery molded snowflakes and little beads and charms suspended in light blue, transparent wax. _CRYS_ was carved into its bottom right-hand corner in childlike letters. A signature.

           “Magnificent, right? We finally finished it,” said Bo Sinclair proudly from behind him.

           Freddy turned and lifted the shocked killer up by the collar. _“You took Crys inside your goddamn wax museum?”_

         The color drained from Bo’s face and he gave Freddy a look like a deer caught in headlights. _“Just – just once! And…and she just saw the back room, none of the – none of the pieces! It – it was years ago, because she wandered off from some field trip, and, and Lester found her out on the road and recognized her, and – and while we waited for Annie to come get her, Victor melted some crayons with her in the workshop and taught her how to use some of the molds – we didn’t show her anything, Freddy, I swear” –_

         “And you didn’t think maybe _I_ might want to know about my kid just ‘wandering off’?”

         “I – I don’t know! Maybe – maybe you should talk to Annie about it” –

         Freddy dropped him. The man’s sniveling was just downright embarrassing, and he didn’t want Bob to get his panties in a twist. He went to go find a drink.

 

* * *

 

 

          Eventually, members stopped arriving, so Aoife decided to take a risk and leave her post to rejoin the party. Even though she knew Bob would probably understand if she accidentally let someone in with their weapon, she had her professional pride. Besides, as usual she had the irrational fear of doing something wrong at her post, and worse, of being _criticized_ for it.

           She stopped by the refreshments table for a paper cup of apple cider, and then figured she should head over to pay her respects to Michael Myers. From what she’d heard, the party was mainly on his account; a way to keep him supervised, occupied, and out of trouble on his most dangerous night of the year. Apparently, this was the only day and night of the year on which he felt an uncontrollable compulsion to kill people, though he’d killed more or less incidentally on other days as well. He was a difficult character to figure out for this reason; unlike most of the SKS members, who seemed mostly normal at first glance, but who Aoife could imagine killing someone under certain circumstances, Michael Myers came off right away as “creepy,” with his silence and his masks. But the more you got to know him, the less likely to be dangerous, in Aoife’s experience, he started to seem. She had never seen him act angry or violent in meetings or outside them; had never seen him pick fights with the other members as Freddy and some of the others sometimes did when they got bored. Aside from needing to be strapped down at sunset each Halloween, and of course not being able to talk, he seemed like probably the best-adjusted member, after Annie and Bob.

         She smiled politely at him now, as she sat down on one of the armchairs pushed into a sort of square around his restraining chair. A spring creaked under her; she colored, even though she intellectually knew it was due to the chair’s age, not her weight. <Happy Halloween, Mr. Myers.> She suspected that, as with most of the slashers she’d met in this realm, that level of formality was unnecessary, but it was always better to be more polite than necessary, rather than not polite enough, according to what she’d been taught. Offending someone, even one of these beings who had no power over her life or career, would be even worse than being criticized.

          He shook his head, unable to sign a response with his arms strapped down, but his head shake and appearance in the Force conveyed it perfectly well. <Sorry, Michael.> Another head shake, more vigorous. <Mikey?> Aoife tried, thinking back to how the others referred to him, flushing again at her obtuseness. Finally, this achieved a nod. <Ah, okay. Sorry about that, Mikey.> Another nod, in silent acceptance of her apology.

         Aoife tried to think of something else to say, but her mind had gone completely blank, except for a feeling of mingled frustration and embarrassment, and even something of envy. She didn’t know the cause for Mikey’s mutism, and no one else seemed to know either, but even though she knew – again, on an intellectual level – that it was different from her own issues with verbal speech, it was hard not to feel a little resentful. Why did no one seem to care that _Mikey Myers_ was silent, and only signed a little when he had something in particular to say? Why was _he_ so included in SKS functions and so relatively accepted, despite his past crimes, and his seeming lack of effort to regain speech? Why did _he_ seem so relatively at peace with people’s judgments, at peace with what he _was?_

          She was trying to think of a polite excuse for making her exit when Bob Gray noticed her sitting with him, and made a beeline for them both. “How are you liking the party, Aoife? I’ve got some activities planned for later – optional, of course.”

           <It’s cool,> said Aoife politely. <Much better than the dance looked like it was going to be, anyway.>

           Bob nodded. “Did Crys mention if she and Jane were planning on coming by later?”

           <She didn’t say, sorry.> Aoife swallowed. <I’m actually sort of hungry,> she lied. <I’m going to go get some food, excuse me.> Maybe she’d find a quiet spot in one of the back rooms and read a book on her console or something for a while.

 

* * *

 

 

           Bob caught her stopping back at the refreshments. “You know, I’m sure this is all very new for you. Do you have any questions for me?” He gave her a sidelong glance. “Questions you might have been afraid to ask in front of Mikey?”

           Aoife decided to speak her mind. <Well, yes. If he has to literally be strapped down to keep him from killing people, well…shouldn’t he be contained in some way? Should we be letting him roam around as much as we do? He can barely communicate with people. It seems like a recipe for disaster.>

           “’Contained’? You mean like imprisoned?” Bob frowned. “Where he can be isolated and cut off from everything that might give him some lingering tie to humanity? That’s what got us into this mess. No, this has a far lower fatality rate than any of that ever did, with Mikey. And it’s consensual, too. He wants to reform, and he asked us to do it. He’s all right with it, and it’s probably more fun than prison. It’s just one night, it’s with friends, and there’s a party. This way’s better for everyone, all around.”

           <But don’t we have to protect people – to do what’s best for the most people?>

           “But the needs of the majority don’t cancel out Mikey’s rights as a sentient being, do they?” Bob countered. “And talking of protecting people, what about protecting people like him? They _are_ still _people_.”

            Aoife frowned; she’d have to think about that later on. On the one hand, she knew any kind of government involved some sacrifice of individual liberty for the well-being of society as a whole. On the other hand, as a disabled person, she could easily think of problems that could arise even with the goal of doing “what’s best for the most people.” <But if he went around killing people, doesn’t he deserve –>

             Bob silenced her with a glare. “Are you that sure who deserves what, Aoife? What if someone gave _you_ exactly what you deserved, eh?”

             He nodded as the realization of what that might mean showed on her face. “Life is complicated, and unkind. We all do the best we can, and it’s no use talking about who deserves what, because in reality, few of us get what we deserve. Most get much better, some get far worse. And how can any of us know who really deserves what, anyway? Best if instead we just give people whatever they seem to need. Or what they ask for, since often people are actually very good at knowing their own needs. That’s a cornerstone of what we do here. Frankly, given your own experience with ableism, I’d expect you to see the problems with these ideas straight off.”

            Aoife nodded, trying to stay as composed as she could as the shame washed over her. <You’re right, I’m sorry,> she managed. <Excuse me, I have to find a bathroom.> She left without even waiting for his directions, and managed to make it to the more secluded hall at the back of the Shack, where the kitchen and extra rooms were, away from its main area, before the tears started to flow.

 

            Bob would have registered Aoife’s shame and mortification even if he hadn’t been able to sense it; it was all over her face as she rushed off. For a moment, that seemed deserved, but then he found himself softening. Her ignorance hadn’t been her fault, and neither really had her reaction; it was what she’d always been taught. And even if it had been her fault, what had he just been saying about what people deserved versus what they needed?

            He found her in one of the extra back rooms that had been set up like a spare bedroom in the case of a blizzard, or any other condition in which a member without a lair might need shelter. She had kicked off her shoes and sat cross-legged on one of the beds, skirts twisted around her body, crying quietly. She shrank down farther when she saw him, though there was anger in her gaze as well, maybe even hatred. Well, he was the one who’d ruined her evening, so that was to be expected.

            “I shouldn’t have gotten so sharp with you,” he told her bluntly. “This is all still very new to you, and I should have taken that into account. I’m sorry, Aoife.”

            <It’s not your fault,> she managed, through the tears. <I was wrong. You don’t have anything to be sorry for. I’m just being immature.>

            “No you aren’t. You’re allowed to feel whatever you do feel. I was…worried that you’d say something like that around Mikey. And a little insulted myself, I’ll admit.”

            <I’m sorry,> she repeated, looking even sadder.

           “Aoife, I know you are. It’s all right.”

           <I never would have actually said that to Mikey’s face.>

            “I know. I was being foolish. Please come back to the party, Aoife.”

            She shook her head.

            “You know, you can make a mistake,” Bob told her. “You can even be rude or insensitive – not on a regular basis, of course, that’s no good, but once in a while. Everyone is. It doesn’t mean people will suddenly hate you. Or that you’re suddenly worthy of nothing but hate.”

           Aoife didn’t want to argue with him, but inwardly, she was doubtful. Maybe that was how it was for other people, but for someone like her, whose company was at best unremarkable and at worst barely tolerable, not to mention awkward, surely different rules applied. Surely people were waiting for her to mess up somehow, to give them an excuse to withdraw their help, their friendship, or their political support. It wasn’t as if she gave them any reason to tolerate her imperfections.

           Still, she nodded for Bob’s benefit. <I’ll try to be back out soon.> He took the hint and left her alone, and she looked around for a box of tissues to wipe her face.

 

* * *

 

 

        The conversation lulled as Bob turned down the music, and people obligingly turned his way. “So I thought that this year, since we have so many new members and guests, we could do a few festive party activities.” He grinned around at them. “So I got these for us.” He hauled forward a box, and dumped it out. Its contents – orange and yellow pumpkins of various sizes and shapes – rolled to the floor.

         “How are we supposed to carve them?” Bo Sinclair piped up. “You made us leave all our knives and stuff at the door.” Privately, Freddy agreed.

        “Don’t be silly, we’ll just…” Bob paused, and then his face fell as he realized he’d made a tactical error.

        They all turned toward the insistent tapping coming from Mikey’s chair. The big man was tapping on one of the armrests with the hand strapped to it.

       Arianrod came forward with the letter board, and Freddy growled – but not loudly – as Bob spelled it out, given that his hands were strapped down, meaning he couldn’t sign. “He says we should just draw and paint designs on them, instead of carving them,” Arianrod suggested. “Good idea, Mikey.”

         It wasn’t actually a terrible idea, especially given that they already had the damn things, so Bob conjured up some art kits and that occupied most of them for a while. Arianrod set aside one of the big pumpkins for Mikey to decorate tomorrow after he was unstrapped. Freddy, of course, wasn’t going to do any damn arts and crafts project, but he supervised the rest of them and tried to look like he wasn’t interested. After circling the table, he parked himself next to Aoife. _After all, what’s the point of having her here if she’s not going to entertain me when I’ve got nothing better to do?_

         “Whatcha making?” he asked. Her pumpkin was one of the smaller, ridged, kind of squished-down looking ones, and she was painstakingly finger-smearing designs in black paint onto each ridge, in columns as neat as she could make them.

         She looked up briefly, then focused again on her project. <These are Sith runes,> she explained. <Originally I thought I could make it look really interesting and like a sort of intricate tattoo, but I overestimated my painting ability.> Her cheeks colored slightly.

         “It doesn’t look that bad,” he said, and actually meant it. It had kind of a cool, primitive, satanic look to it. Her inky, accidental fingerprints alongside each column of shapes only heightened the impression.

         <That’s nice of you to say,> she told him, sounding incredulous. Then, she grinned. <I saved one for you, by the way.>

         “Aw, hell, Aoife, I don’t wanna do a fucking arts and crafts project.”

         <Don’t be too sure.> Still grinning, she wiped her hands and fished carefully in the folds of her dress for what was clearly one of the smaller pumpkins. She held it out for him. <I saw it and thought of you.>

         Freddy looked down at it…and snorted. “Oh, _wow_.”

         She giggled. <I thought you’d like it.>

          “You thought right.” He couldn’t stop sniggering at the tiny pumpkin, abnormally shaped to resemble tits – or an ass. “Okay, I guess I’ll make one after all.” _After all, I can’t just leave these poor tits without any nipples_.

 

* * *

 

 

        Bob grinned down proudly at the tub full of water and floating apples that he’d conjured up. “Oh, come on,” he cajoled, looking around at the assembled killers. “I saw this on the internet. Bobbing for apples. It’s a festive, challenging game!”

        Slouching at the back of the queue, Freddy had no intention of bobbing for apples. He was more focused on Jason Voorhees – the big lug had finally been let off probation, so he’d be showing up at a lot more events now, which left Freddy conflicted. On the one hand, the last time he’d fought Jason he’d pretty much gotten his ass handed to him. On the other hand, messing with “dumb muscle” killers like him and Leatherface was one of his favorite activities. He’d briefly made sure the overgrown brat wasn’t going to try anything funny with Aoife, seeing as how she’d already been his final girl once due to a misunderstanding on her part. Luckily, the moron seemed to have gotten her message, and was keeping his distance.

         “Oh, come now!” Bob looked crestfallen. “ _Someone_ just try it.”

         Getting an idea, Freddy snuck up behind Jason with one of the plastic knives, and jabbed it into his back as hard as he could before scampering back into the cluster. It wasn’t going to hurt Voorhees, of course, but that wasn’t the goal.

        On cue, Jason jumped forward like someone had poured ice water down his back. “Oh, Jason!” Bob smiled approvingly. “Good man, come here! It’s all right.”

        Jason did give it a shot, but on looking into the basin, he reared back. Getting another idea, Freddy stepped forward. “Come on, big guy,” he called out. “If you do it, I’ll do it.”

        He was pretty sure Jason was side-eyeing the hell out of him under the mask. He flashed the guy his least-satanic smile.

         Cautious but obliging, Voorhees knelt down in front of the tub and pulled up his mask. Bo Sinclair and a few others recoiled slightly, but most of them were used to it.

        Freddy waited until the big galoot couldn’t easily straighten up, and then shoved Voorhees as hard as he could until the waterlogged moron went splashing into the tub. His triumph was short-lived, though, as Voorhees recovered faster than he’d anticipated and managed to snatch him up like a rag doll and dunk him into the still-half-full tub of water and apples.

          Freddy struggled out of the tub; his hat was pretty much dry, but his sweater and pants were soaked. He growled and flipped off the other guests, whose reactions ranged from sympathetic attempts to resist laughing (Bob and Aoife) to near-hysterics (Leatherface). People were slapping Jason on the back and congratulating him; Freddy slunk off to find a towel and a drink.

 

* * *

 

 

           “All right, everyone,” Bob called out over the din, standing on the chair.

           <Do you think I should turn the music off completely?> Aoife asked Freddy.

            The dream demon nodded. “Sure. Probably.”

              Bob glanced at the McAshtons’ stereo briefly, before shrugging. “Since it’s starting to get late, it’s time to vote on what movie we’ll be showing tonight. And considering we’re going to avoid bloodbath-style movies so that no one ends up going on any rampages tonight, we have…two suggestions.” He pulled two scraps of paper from some fold in his suit. “Let’s see…ah, our first suggestion is _The Nightmare Before Christmas_ , it looks like Crys’ handwriting if I do say so myself…that’s not one of yours, Freddy, is it?”

            “Nope,” Freddy told him. “It’s some Tim Burton Claymation thing with a skeleton, I think.”

            “Oh. Well, that certainly sounds interesting. And the other nominee is…” Bob’s face fell as he read the other paper, and gradually his crestfallen expression became a snarl under his greasepaint. “Really? Every fucking year! This movie! Every year!”

            <What movie?> Aoife whispered to Freddy, who sniggered.

            “ _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_. He hates it because people always think he looks like Tim Curry, and we always keep asking him to sing ‘Sweet Transvestite’ for us. We watched it a few years back. So now, I always put it in the suggestion box, just for this.” He indicated Bob’s reaction, and Aoife tried not to snort, or at least to disguise it in case Bob happened to look her way.

            Raising his voice, he called out, “Come on, Bob. Aoife here’s from another planet; she’s probably never even _seen_ it before.”

            Bob glowered, but seemed swayed. “All right. Everyone for _Nightmare before Christmas_ , raise your hands,” he added with a last drop of hope in his voice. When only a smattering of hands went up, he seemed to sink back into his gloom as he announced, “And everyone who wants _Rocky Horror_?” To his obvious despair, the vote was nearly unanimous. “Very well then.”

            “Are we too late?” called Crys’ voice as the Shack door swung open behind them (not much point in locking it; they were the scariest things in these woods, Bob had figured) and both Freddy and Aoife experienced simultaneous feelings of horror.

           Freddy turned and reacted first, as behind him Bob’s greasepaint obscured the fact that he’d turned white as a sheet. Not only Crys was striding in, but Annie too, still in her purple frilly dress with the ridiculous ribbon corset that wasn’t even lingerie and the stiff bell-shaped skirt. It looked especially surreal with her old brown-green men’s greatcoat pulled over it. “Nope, you’re both just in time. What happened to the dance and the trick-or-treaters, though?” Something about the entire scene, including the way he seemed to be talking for some reason, was familiar in a way that was stifling.

            _He was in the cellar with Loretta and Kathy was right upstairs and Loretta was holding up one of his gloves and it was getting hard to breathe…_

            Aoife moved a little closer to him. It probably looked suspicious, but he didn’t actually hate it, or care.

            “The dance kind of sucked,” Crys explained casually, and even Freddy was pretty sure that was code for, “people were homophobic assholes,” especially from the way her and Jane’s zombie makeup had started to run a little, around the eyes. At least, he was pretty sure Crys was wearing zombie makeup. _Is that a striped shirt? And a fedora? Is Jane wearing a nightgown? …Nah; couldn’t be_. “So we asked Mom to come get us early.”

            “You mean the dance kind of _stunk_ ,” Annie corrected her, but without much conviction. Crys had probably told her all about it already. “And frankly, we always stop getting trick-or-treaters around ten, if not earlier. So I had gone to get Crys and Jane, and I said to myself, ‘they’ll probably be showing a fun movie up at the Shack,’ and Jane hasn’t seen a lot of movies, so I suggested we just drive up here and spend a few hours.” She frowned. “Aoife? What are _you_ doing here?”

            <Um…I just wanted to come, so Freddy gave me a lift,> Aoife told her. <Mr. Gray said it was fine, and everything,> she added quickly. Considering how awkward the kid could be, her relative ease at lying to Annie, or at least covering up some key information, calmed Freddy down a hair.

            “Oh, yes,” Bob piped up, playing along. “It was my idea that she come, in fact.” He swallowed. “Anyway, we were just about to put on _Rocky Horror_.”

            “ _Yes!”_ Crys punched the air as Annie looked about as enthusiastic as Bob, and Jane mirrored Aoife’s level of bewilderment.

 

            He found Annie after the kids had settled down on one of the lumpy couches together to watch. “So the dance didn’t go well, huh?”

            She shook her head. “No,” she said, quietly.

            “Anybody you want me to kill, just give me their names.”

            “You can’t kill the whole school, Freddy.”

            He snorted, trying to lighten her up. “I oughta take that as a challenge.”

            “ _No, Freddy!”_ She raised her voice without meaning to, and a couple people turned from the screen and gave them – especially Freddy – looks. “No,” Annie repeated more quietly. “I don’t want to do that anymore. Not even for Crys. I don’t think I can. I don’t like it.” She looked down, as if she was ashamed of that.

            “Bob’s okay with it when we’ve got a good reason, you know. The killing. When it’s for Crys. We’re not gonna get in trouble.”

            “It has nothing to do with that.”

            Freddy rolled his eyes. “Oh, what, not enough _nobility_ in it for ya?”

            “As a matter of fact, that’s exactly it.” She fingered the eternal (probably fake) gold cross hanging around her neck, paradoxically just a few inches above the dress-bodice’s cleavage. In deference to the costume, it was strung on a ribbon instead of its usual chain. Her voice had gotten pensive as she stared out into the darkened room, eyes not focused on anything in particular. For a second, Freddy wondered if she was having another catatonic episode. But no, she was just deep in her own literary, religious, college-educated thoughts. As if he wasn’t even there with her anymore.

            He felt his anger start to spike. So Annie “Dragon Lady” Wilkes had finally decided she was too good for killing. He’d felt it coming for a while from her, starting with Crys’ birth, but here it was, finally happening. _Just give her some happy pills and a new degree, and she thinks she’s so damn perfect._

           “Well, what about what _I_ think we oughta do, huh? I’m her parent too.” He could tell she wanted to make some snappy remark about how she was the one who did pretty much all the actual parenting, and he probably wouldn’t have had any response if she did, but she was holding herself in check, probably for Crys, for appearances, and for the damn cross she was still fiddling with.

            “In fact,” he continued, taking advantage of her sullen silence, “I wanna know why you never told me about her wandering away and ending up in the Sinclair brothers’ little side show.”

            “ _What?”_ she looked confused, and then comprehension dawned. “Freddy, she was _seven_ when that happened. It was _years_ ago.”

            “You still should’ve told me!”

            “Nothing _happened_. I mean, I don’t like it either, but they took care of her. She was all right. I don’t even think she saw any of the…the _bodies_ , thank goodness.”

            He knew she was right. She had been right the whole damn conversation, and it was pissing him off. He needed more booze. “You still should’ve told me,” he hissed, and stalked off toward the refreshments before she could reply.

 

* * *

 

 

            He was finally starting to feel buzzed when Aoife lowered herself into the chair next to him. “Why aren’t you over with Crys and Jane?” he tried not to snap.

            She shook her head. <They started making out. It was weird.>

            “What, you want to copy them or something?”

            She wrinkled her nose, but he thought that was probably just the prospect of PDA in general, rather than with him, since it wasn’t like she’d never done anything similar. <Of course not. I’d just rather sit here.>

            She didn’t say anything else after that, just kept on watching the movie. Whenever there was one of the musical numbers, especially “Time Warp,” her hands would flap excitedly, like she was trying to take off. He kind of liked that, too, and it seemed to have a slightly calming effect on his rage.

            Freddy actually did enjoy _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_ , but it definitely dragged in the second half, and he didn’t blame Aoife when he looked over and saw her nodding off during Tim Curry’s slow song in the pool. He tensed up when he felt something on his shoulder; it was her head. He couldn’t actually bring himself to shake her off. Silently, he thanked the gods of Halloween that the room was dark.

 

          He managed to shake her awake just before the lights came up again, and he was mollified by the fact that she did look mortified and repentant, if still sleepy. <Oh gods, Freddy, I’m so sorry; my immune system pills have fatigue as a side effect, and I had P.E. today, and –>

          “Ah, it’s okay. Nobody saw.” He couldn’t help but grin.

 

* * *

 

 

        “So how is your little _date_ going?” Bob pressed him with a wink.

        Freddy rolled his eyes. “You’d better ask Aoife. I don’t care.”

        “Oh, _come on_ , Fred.”

        “Okay…she found good music on the radio when we were driving here.” He shrugged. “What’s it to you, anyway?”

        “Honestly? Because I think you need more friends.” Bob raised a painted eyebrow. “Think about it. You’ve only ever really hung out with me, Annie, and Arianrod, and you don’t see them so much anymore” –

         “Because they both decided to surround themselves with brats, and I’m on your damn _wagon!”_

         “Annie had your offspring, that’s not exactly like ‘deciding to surround herself with brats’”–

         _“_ She thinks she’s too _good_ for me _._ Too good for _any of us!”_

         “No she doesn’t, Freddy, she’s trying to get better! That’s what we’re all supposed to be trying to do, and you won’t if you do nothing but _sit in your lair alone and drink yourself numb."_

         _“Wake the fuck up, Bob, none of us are gonna ‘get better.'”_

          _“Well, if that’s how you feel, then why don’t you just go back where you came from, so the rest of us can stop trying to deal with you!”_ Bob hissed. A second later, Freddy could see the pathetic guilt and regret playing out across his face, but he didn’t care. He raised his glove hand, only to remember that his glove was still back on the weapons table.

          He balled the hand into a fist and socked Bob in the stomach instead, turning back toward his glove and the door without waiting to see the clown’s reaction.

 

          He was going to leave. He was going to get in the car and drive away from the Shack and out of these woods and maybe he’d go all the way back to Springwood, and just pick up where he’d left off. Anyway, he was definitely going to leave this lame excuse for a party.

          But first, Freddy was finding he needed some air. Just a little of the cool night air, with the sounds of the forest around him. He seemed to have slowed down for some reason, and it was hard to do anything all of a sudden.

          _Why did I come here?_

          Well, okay, because amateur teen witch Arianrod had taken control of him as her demon somehow and compelled him to. But why had he _stayed?_ What had he actually thought would happen? Okay, Crys had been a positive effect, but otherwise, he didn’t fit in here anymore than he ever had in Springwood. At least there he’d hollowed out a niche for himself, and at least _there_ people were scared of him.

        <Freddy?> He groaned aloud. What did she want, a roleplay right here and now?

         “Go away,” he growled.

         She didn’t obey, but she didn’t get close. It didn’t seem like a caution thing; more like she was trying to give him his space. <I heard what Bob said.>

         “Oh, _great_.”

         <I don’t think anyone else did,> she explained quickly. <I just heard it through the Force. The music was pretty loud.>

         “Aoife, I don’t want to talk about it.”

         <That’s okay. I just wanted to say I’m really sorry about it.>

          “I don’t care.”

          <It was an awful thing for him to say to you.>

           “He didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. Not like I give a fuck anyway.”

           She didn’t deny that it was true. <It’s still an awful thing to tell someone. That everyone around them is just ‘dealing with them.’>

            “I told you, _I don’t care_. Why are you even still _out here?”_

           <Because I know how horrible it is to feel like everyone around you is just putting up with you. Like you’re a burden to people you like.>

           He didn’t really have anything to say to that, and she didn’t say anything else for a while either; just perched herself on a convenient tree stump near the Shack’s doorway and stared off into space, using her gift for disappearing into her own head as a means of entertainment. He didn’t actually hate her presence, now that the embarrassment was wearing off, so he stayed where he was.

         Finally, Freddy decided it was getting awkward, and besides, someone was probably going to wonder what they were doing out here, or think he’d killed Aoife or something. Or Bob was going to try to eat him. Freddy didn’t think that would actually kill him, but getting digested by a giant space spider probably wasn’t going to be fun. “I’m gonna leave,” he told her. “Not this whole area; at least, not tonight. But I’m not in a party mood anymore. Want me to get Annie to take you home?”

          <I guess so. Maybe I’ll just leave now too, and you could just drop me off if you want to be alone?>

          “Nah, stay at the party, you looked like you were having fun.” He tried not to sound bitter about it.

          <Why did you ask me to come with you?> she asked him bluntly.

          Freddy wasn’t in the mood to come up with a lie. “Bob told me to. He thought you’d like it, and he figures you and I should be friends, or some such bullshit.”

         She nodded. <I figured someone probably put you up to it. You don’t exactly seem like the ‘date’ kind of person.>

         “Well, people wanted you here. I was just your ride, kind of. Everyone’s happy to have you here. I already think they like you better.”

         <Well, fuck their opinions, then.> She didn’t actually lie and contradict him. He weirdly liked that. <Do you…I mean, are you at least _all right_ with me being here? >

         “Sure.” He was surprised to find it was actually pretty true. “I’ve…got no problem with it. Got no problem with you, and you seem to be having a good time. And the fact I brought you probably makes me look better. At least a little bit. Also, you were a good radio jockey on the drive up.” He realized belatedly that he should’ve lied, like he always had with Loretta, just pulled something out of his ass. But Aoife never lied to him or fed him romantic crap that wasn’t true unless they were roleplaying. It’d feel strange to talk to her the way he’d talked to Loretta, and to some extent to Annie, and he wasn’t at all eager to go back to that.

        Aoife nodded. <You’ve been good with me,> she said. <I know…well, I don’t want to offend you, but I kind of suspect it’s been hard for you to do enthusiastic consent and safe words and everything. Especially because the BDSM stuff is so new, for both of us. But you’ve been doing it really well, and it’s been good for me.>

        “Well…good. Yeah, it’s been good for me, too. You’re…” Freddy realized there probably wasn’t a way to tell a woman she was good in bed without it sounding like an insult. At least, none he knew. “You’re good at it. Especially with the roleplay stuff. Like…the scenarios. You’ve been…creative.”

         <Um, thanks.> She blushed and looked down, but he didn’t think she was pissed. <And thanks for letting me hang out with you…like those times during lunch when Crys wasn’t there.>

        “Well, it’s not like I had so much better company.” It occurred to Freddy that that probably hadn’t come out right. “What I mean is…you’re not bad company, you know. It’s not like it’s a chore or anything, hanging out with you. Better than being alone. More interesting.”

         Aoife looked up at his face for the first time, brow wrinkling in surprise. <Really?> she asked with what sounded like honest disbelief, and the part of Freddy that he’d never admit to having, the part that had felt bruised and leaking when Crys and Aoife were getting picked on, and especially when Crys was getting beat up, started getting that sore feeling again.

         He searched for something to say to maybe make her feel better. “Yeah, and that reminds me – you know that…well, it was kind of an argument we had, the night Crys got that shiner? ‘Cause of what I told her about maybe trying not to act so –”

         <Yes, I remember it.>

         “Well, you know…I thought about it…and yeah, you were…probably right.” He tried to get it out as quickly and nonchalantly as he could.

        <Yes, I was,> she said matter-of-factly, her bashfulness disappearing for the moment. <Thank you for acknowledging it.>

         “Gee, Princess, thanks for making it so easy for me.” But he kept going. “Anyway, I was thinking…you know…like, I never really had a lot of friends back when I was in school.” He shrugged, like it didn’t bother him, because of course it didn’t. “Actually, until I came here, I never really had a lot of friends, period. Anyway…I was just thinking; you know…I’m glad you’re friends with Crys. You know. Because people are assholes to her, a lot, especially at school. So, you know. Thanks for that.”

         <Well, why wouldn’t I be? I don’t have many friends either, and, I mean…> she grinned self-deprecatingly. <To be honest, I don’t know why _she’s_ friends with _me_. >

         “Eh, I told you. You’re pretty cool, for a nerd.” She laughed at that. He did always like it when he could get her to crack a smile. “So…” he shrugged aimlessly. “I guess it’d probably look like I was running away if I left now, huh?”

           <I don’t know. Do whatever you feel like doing. I kind of want you to stay, though.>

 

* * *

 

 

         It was a little after two, and the party was beginning to wind down slowly as some of the more lightweight members left to go crash in the back room beds. Freddy watched Annie help Aoife to the car, since apparently her legs were losing their steam for the night, while Bob waved with all the host-ly aplomb he'd been laying on all night. To his surprise, Freddy  actually felt a little bad that she was going. He’d go see her soon in her dreams, he told himself. _Yeah, we'll have our own little party then_. He snickered to himself.

 


End file.
